Crossing over
by solussword
Summary: When Harry Potter steps out of his world into ours, Daniel Radcliffe and J.K. Rowling have an interesting time trying to help.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: so, after a long hiatus, and without any good excuse, I return with another short story. Depending on the response (C'mon Korea, we're counting on you here) I might update it, I might not. If you like it, please, as a personal favor to me, review. If you hate it, review it anyway, and tell me what sucks.**

Disclamer: Although in this story I say explicitly that J.K. Rowling is the sole creator of Harry Potter and associates, and that she whores them out to Warner Bros., I felt that I should have a disclamer, all the same.

There was a ring. It was the sort of ring that is usually attached to an old fashioned phone. There was another ring. One more started, but was sharply cut off by an irate black-haired teenager grasping the phone by his bedside and yanking it up to his ear, with a sleepy glance at the caller I.D.

"Mrs. Rowling? It's two in the morning. Can it wait?"

"No, I need you to come over here, now." She sounded hysterical, something she usually avoided. "This is big; bigger than you or me."

Daniel Radcliffe wiped a hand across his face—the same face that got him a multi-million dollar contract. "I thought I was done with acting. I don't have to deal with this kind of randomness anymore."

He swore he heard a whine on the other end of the telephone. "Just-Please, Dan. Just this once. For me."

He hung up the phone. With a sigh, he swung his legs out of his _very_ comfortable mattress, onto his _very _expensive rug, slipped on a pair of trousers and a jacket from his _large and expensive _closet, and got into his _piece of shit_ car, in which he drove up to J.K. Rowling's estate.

On the ride there he sat uncomfortably in his car. It was the only part of his life that wasn't perfect. He liked it that way. He had _worked_ for this car. (That janitorial job had been the best of his life, marred only by the fact that the female janitor was constantly asking for autographs)

It was the only thing that hadn't been handed to him on Rowling's fictional character's platter. Some days he wondered if his life would amount to anything other than his face. He would always be Harry Potter. He would never be Daniel Radcliffe, teenager who strongly disliked red-haired underage girls but seriously enjoyed black-haired, big breasted older women. He could never be Daniel Radcliffe, who thought the idea of riding on brooms was not only ridiculous, but had numerous problems in the urology department. He would always be Harry Potter, possibly the only character able to wave a twig about and look mildly heroic doing it.

Somehow, that irked him.

He shrugged. Whatever. He had millions in the bank, and when he felt like it, he could go out, smile charmingly at a random female, and pray that she had seen at least _one_ of the movies and enjoyed it. That's all that counted nowadays, right?

He pulled up to Rowling's house and parked in her huge driveway. With a bit of effort, he wrestled open the door of his car open, exited, then shut it with a little more than necessary force. He rang the doorbell.

He waited.

There was a series of thumps, followed by two voices talking furiously. Daniel couldn't see anything beyond the stained glass surrounding the doors.

The door opened, and before it could open completely Daniel heard his voice ask "do you think it's the same size-"

"Oh," The voice said. "This is him?"

It was not uncommon to see stunt doubles on sets of movies, Daniel himself had an in-depth discussion about Large-breasted women with his double when Emma was doing her scenes. They never looked quite right. There was always something off about their face; a freckle or nineteen there, awkward bone structure here, always minor but severely off-putting. His double (for the goblet of fire) had sported a badly healed broken nose.

The man standing in front of him could be Daniel's double. He could have been pulled right out of Rowling's books. Tall, dark-haired, insane looking eyes. Skinny, and very pale. He was cloaked, and the jeans and black tee under it looked like they belonged.

For some reason, every inch of him bulldozed the message "DANGER!" into Radcliffe's soul.

Daniel heard Rowling squeak an affirmative in the background.

Eyes the color of death pierced Radcliffe's. He stood still in sheer terror. Never before had he been so scared of someone leaner than a twig.

The man in front of him (no one was that scary and an adolescent) smiled. It was worse than him simply staring. "Come in, won't you? I understand you're the representative of me on this plane."

Daniel was understandably confused.

"What?"

The man in the doorway spared a glance back into the house. He raised an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Green eyes sparkled with mirth. "Why, Daniel, I'm you." He put a finger to his lips. "Or you're me. I think that's it."

His eyes met Daniel's again, and his smile managed to get bigger. "I'm Harry Potter."

**A/N: so there it was- there's many minor plot details that are obviously confusing (such as Radcliffe's odd depression) that I will explain, not all right away. Right now Daniel Radcliffe, J.K. Rowling and any other actors will be _my _characters. They will not be real people, however much they are based off of real people. **

**If you like it, again, please review. Even if you didn't, tell me what sucked. I can't make it better if I can't figure out what doesn't work.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I'm back, sorry for the slow and tiny update, I have ton's of excuses but none that are worthy enough to actually use.**

**So without much more filler, I give you a filler chapter. This writing gig is harder than I expected...**

**Disclaimer: **Even though I repeatedly state that J.K. Rowling owns everything, I might as well disclaim all the characters, just to make it seem like an authentic Fanfic.

Daniel stared.

"Bullshit."

'Harry' jerked back, affronted. "Excuse me?"

"I said 'bullshit,'" Daniel said, not directly staring at the man in front of him in case his gaze would light him on fire. "You're not real. You can't be. She invented you." He pointed at Rowling.

She stepped meekly into the entryway, between Harry and Daniel. "Let's discuss this inside."

Daniel looked at the open London street, freezing at two in the morning. He looked at Harry.

Five minutes, three armchairs, two coffees' and a living room later, Daniel started talking again.

"You're Harry Potter."

Harry nodded.

"You're not real."

Harry shook his head.

"You're not real," Daniel repeated, sounding a little desperate.

"I am real."

Daniel paused.

"You were written about in fictional books; books written by the woman sitting beside you."

"Yes. I was also written about in some interesting fanfiction." Harry spared Daniel a half crazed smile. "_Very_ interesting fanfiction."

Daniel pushed his train of thought further, ignoring Harry's comments. The doorbell rang, Rowling sprung up to answer it. "How do you exist?"

"No clue."

There was a gasp at the door, followed by the heavy tread of speedy footsteps.

"Not one?"

Harry appeared to think about it.

"I think, therefore I am."

Daniel rolled his eyes. Harry looked away for a moment, then smiled.

Hermione Granger stood into the entrance of the living room.

At least, what Daniel's brain inferred was Hermione. She looked a bit like Emma Watson, but the woman standing in front of him probably didn't get to have vegetable platters brought to her in between scenes. Her hair was a little longer than Emma's, and she was a little bit taller, but otherwise she looked like she could be Emma's sister.

But there was something off about her. Now that Daniel had mustered up the courage, he noticed that the same thing was wrong with Harry. Every few seconds Harry's and Hermione's face would distort, not very noticeably, and something minor would change. One moment Harry's scar was flour white, another light green. Hermione' s nose one second would be snubbed, the next regular sized. Even their height changed. When Harry had arrived, he had towered over Daniel. Now they were both evenly sized.

"Not quite," she said, interrupting Daniel's train of thought with a smile. "But close."

Harry stood up and started to make his way towards her. "You made it."

Hermione's smile grew as he got closer. She was beaming by the time Harry came to her and pulled her waist to his in a one-armed hug. "Of course." She looked around the room and sat on a couch, pulling Harry down with her. "Let's hope Ron gets here soon. I don't feel like explaining this a million times over."

Rowling entered the living room with another cup of coffee, wide eyed.

"There's going to be more of you?"

Hermione bit her lip. "A couple dozen."

Rowling fainted. The coffee stained the carpet with a brownness a pit bull could be proud of.

"It's not every day you meet your creations. She's going to quite a few more. She's got the right to be a little flustered." Hermione sipped her coffee. "Although we should probably wake her up."

"She's just going to keep fainting. Leave her." Harry made his way towards a couch and pulled Hermione down with him. "let's wait."

For the next few minutes Daniel fidgeted awkwardly as Hermione and Harry waited. He thought the way Harry and Hermione waited was (he fished for a word) unique. For one, he would never wait that way with his mother. Because a) He'd never caress his mother that way and b) he'd never kiss his mother that often.

Daniel came to the conclusion that Harry and Hermione wouldn't mind waiting till the end of the world.

A few minutes later, a wizened old woman that made Daniel want to wince and say 'yes professor' swept in and sat rather forcefully in between Harry and Hermione. Harry glared, and the ricochet of hate made Daniel cringe.

Hoping to ease tension from the situation, he introduced himself. The Respectable Aged Member of Society introduced herself as Deputy Headmistress McGonagall.

Daniel thought he was being clever when he asked "Is that a hint of a Scottish brogue I hear?"

She gave him a look that would freeze Satan in his place. Daniel could feel icicles forming in his nostrils.

"No, you do not."

And that was that.

They waited, with Harry glaring and McGonagall keeping the room PG.

Eventually an even older looking Pillar of Society walked through the door, stepped gingerly over Rowling, then flopped into a large armchair. Daniel noticed that the minor distortions that occurred with Harry and Hermione didn't really happen to this man. Rather, instead of his physical features (of which his truly magnificent beard dominated, mildly accented by his wise-looking half-moon glasses) shifting, his body language constantly changed. Sometimes he was a mildly perverted looking old man, sometimes a savage beast about to choke you out, sometimes a wise sage.

Daniel was developing a headache from the Inconsistencies. It was not soothed by the next person to enter the room.

A large, tomato headed young man stomped into the room, treading heavily on Rowling. He was as equally unstable as the old man. For some reason, whenever he opened his mouth, his jaw would lift and open rapidly, but no sound would come out. The old man giggled. Harry attempted to sneak a kiss from behind the couch while McGonagall was distracted, but was betrayed by the red haired man, who pointed a violent silent finger at him. Daniel sighed.

A train of red haired peoples came through the door, and when they tried to talk they were all as mysteriously silent as the first. After them came a ragged looking man and pink haired woman, who had the same bipolar sickness that afflicted the others, but to a lesser extent. At least they could refrain from a silent torrent of expletives and finger waving.

After them came dozens more characters, all with the same tourretes-like quality, but to a lesser and louder extent than some other red-haired individuals. The most memorable to Daniel was a green-cloaked man, who had black hair so greasy you could run a MacDonald's off it.

For some reason this person lacked much of the feature shifting that plagued the others. He was always medium height, medium build, sharp face, and black, greasy hair. What struck Daniel the most was the man's indomitable sexual aura. For reason's completely out of his comprehension, the greasy-haired individual managed to emit some sort of Pedo-Field. If not for the man's horrible composition, Daniel was reasonably sure that the man who was squinting at the rest of the assembled (Daniel's mind whirled, looking for a word) characters could take over the entire world on sexual attraction alone.

The second his subconscious told his conscious this half-baked thought, he wanted to vomit. What was he thinking? The man in front of him couldn't charm a sexually confused teenager, let alone any sane person. Daniel chalked up his confusion to the constant shifting of features of Rowling's visitors.

When the slow trickling of people flowing into the living room, and people had figured out the correct seating arrangements, Hermione stood up and looked about the room.

"I know you are all wondering how, where, and why you are here." Hermione paused. She pointed a finger at Daniel, and he could feel every head shift to face him. "It's because of him."

Daniel squeaked.

**a/n: So there it was. Hope you liked it, I certainly enjoyed writing it, however short. Please, as always, review. Tell me how not to suck. The more you tell me, the earlier (and larger) I want to update.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm back, for better or for worse. Here's something to tide you over-hopefully long enough till I get the story moving. I'm surprised that anyone actually bothered reading it, really. Thanks a lot to the people who read and reviewed, it means a lot!**

**AA/N: The chapter transitions are a little chunky, I kinda wrote a little bit, stopped, then wrote a little more, squished it together, and forgot to put any bridges between chapters to make it easier to just pick up the newest addition. I'll try to work on that.**

_Disclamer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would make him make margarita's for me, just because I like margarita's._

"Me?" Daniel asked, pointing a finger at himself. "Last time I checked I couldn't pull people out of books."

Hermione let her hand fall. "Well, not you specifically. People on this plane in general. Human beings with Philotic capabilities." Her voice was getting faster, louder, and less decipherable with every second. Everyone in the room was wondering what she was talking about. "You see, it's not the fact that you believe something, it's the fact that _so many_ people believe, and love, that triggers small philotic impulses. Who would have guessed guessed ___-he'sageniusharryagenius-"_

Hermione took such a deep breath that she appeared to be gulping.

Harry stood up and walked to Hermione. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him.

"Too fast?

He nodded.

She took a breath.

"Alright. We are all here. As far as we know, we exist." She searched people's eyes for confirmation. She appeared to get it. Steeling herself, she said, "We do not exist."

Other an unexpected explosion of giggles from the bearded man, the room was silent.

"We are fictional. Made up. Our personalities, features, mass, is not our own. We are the creations of this woman." She pointed a finger at Rowling's trodden-on form. "She is our god."

Daniel had been staring at Hermione this entire time, and had only inferred by her body language that nobody was attempting to talk. With a quick glance to the side, it appeared that _everybody _was trying to talk, but all had been silenced by the same affliction the Weasley's had been.

"I'm not asking all of you to accept this all at once, it's a lot to swallow and takes forever to explain. But something you need to understand is that we would not exist if not for J.K. Rowling." She took one more deep breath. "A couple years ago, an author by the name of Orson Scott Card wrote a book. The book is not important, but the things he wrote about in the book are. He wrote of a building block of matter, the Philote, that the entire universe is made up of. Philotes are smaller than anything. Particles, atoms, quarks, all are larger than Philotes. Philotes are everywhere. We ourselves are made up of hundred-trillions, of Philotes.

"Philotes themselves have no mass. They bond to atoms and twine, to make matter. The most essential element to Philotes is their ability to twine together across space."

"So," said Harry. "Philotes can connect two things that are millions of miles away from each other?"

"Yes. Philotes have existed since the beginning of the universe. They have connected to more than one thing. There are networks of Philotes-Things have been connected across space for millennia. Of course, most of those Philotic connections are between a rock and a bit of grass, which really doesn't do anything for us. A rock and piece of grass won't really affect each other the way humans do…"She realized she was rambling again, and collected herself. "Imagine if each of these Philotic connections was like an intangible string, but completely malleable. Imagine that your brain is your hands. Humans can control Philotes."

Hermione let that sink in.

"What does that mean? Well, according to Card, it means that with enough brainpower, we can travel across galaxies in an instant, create matter, and go outside the universe." Daniel looked around the room, the people who comprehended this looked on with keen interest, those who didn't were still silently shouting. Daniel pondered.

Crossing across galaxies in an instant sounded pretty awesome to Daniel. The short distance instantaneous travel applications alone could revolutionize the world. He was also pretty sure that creating matter from nothing was impossible. But if you could, space travel could become a lot more comfortable. And with what rudimentary understanding of the universe he had, he assumed that the universe was infinite, without borders. So if you could go outside that, were you traveling into another dimension? Or did humans just not fully understand the scope of the universe, and overestimate it? Maybe there was a second universe, like a shell, that surrounded this universe, and _that _universe was infinite…

"Outside the universe lies an infinite amount of Philotes, all waiting to become bonded to something. Card told us that some of these Philotes, called aiúas, are the "smart" Philotes, which are, supposedly, the souls of humans."

People were trying to get out of their seats, but found themselves stuck. Daniel was seriously confused.

"The aiúas are what makes humans intelligent. Whenever a baby is born, an aiúas is called from the outside, (that's what we call the area the Philotes occupy _outside_ the universe) and somewhere along the philotic bond with the mother and baby, the Philote makes its way into the network in the baby, and intelligence is born." She spared a glance at Rowling. "She, in essence is our mother."

"How?" Asked Daniel.

"Well, like the mother in birth, she provided the basic outline. She created us, and, whether she knew it or not, she eventually became attached to us. Whatever kept us fictional was destroyed when she let Warner Brothers create physical representations of us. Then the random Philotes that were running around, inspired by the books, morphed and strengthened by fanfiction, found something to latch on to." She looked at Daniel. "You."

"Somehow, with so many Philotic connections being created, a few aiúas made it inside, and, with guidance from the millions of fans of Harry Potter in this universe, we were created."

J.K. Rowling, asleep for the entire explanation, woke up with a snort. She glanced around the room, saw things she only ever perceived in her head, then fainted.

"Isn't Orson Scott Card a science fiction writer?" Asked Daniel, ignoring Rowling.

Hermione turned to him, irked. "Do you have any other better explanation for why we're here? Perhaps we're from another dimension. Maybe we're people in costumes, an acting troupe. Maybe some evil genius made a machine that creates people. I don't know. All are as implausible as 'people thought hard enough so we exist.' But it's the best explanation."

Something didn't make sense (other than the people in the room's existence). "Why are you guys all so insane?"

"Due to the thousands of opinions humans have about any little thing, when the Philotic bonding occurred, some Philotes were too independent already, and each minor aiúa tried to assimilate the large aiúa. So you have people like Snape-"She gestured at the greasy-haired man. "-who's presence itself changes from minute to minute, or to people like Ron-" She pointed to the tomato-haired man"-who's personality changes constantly, or just small physical adjustments that happen to everyone."

"Can you guys, you know, do magic?" Daniel seemed a little worried.

"Only magic talked about in the books, which isn't much. I don't have enough information to turn you into a toad, if that's what you're asking."

"But you could blast my head of."

"Only if you irritate me," She deadpanned.

Daniel still didn't understand. "But, how-"

He was cut short by the front door crashing open, and a snake-faced (literally) man strode through the door, followed by a masked posse.

One of the masked people waved a stick in the air and bellowed "All kneel for the dark lord Voldemort!"

Harry face-palmed. "Oh god, why now..."

Daniel was curious. Wasn't this the most feared wizard in Rowling's book? "Shouldn't we be kneeling?"

Hermione answered by striding over to the "most feared wizard in memory" and kicking him in the man-berries.

Riddle's eyes widened considerably, then he cupped his aching crotch, fell to his knees, and laid down on the floor with a high-pitched squeal.

Placing a foot on Voldemort's posterior, Hermione flipped her hair in the dead silence.

"No, we shouldn't."

Chaos ensued.

**A/N: So, how was it? Good? Bad? I hope not. Whatever you thought, thanks for reading, I'm glad you read it. Again, please, review. It makes my soul tingly.**


	4. authors' apology

**Authors note-**

**So after another hiatus (I went camping for a while, then lost the computer, then found it, couldn't get internet, tons of excuses) I reviewed my this story and realized all the mistakes I made. I'm terribly sorry, some of my half-baked story ideas got mixed up with the real story, and so chapter four didn't make _any sense whatsoever, _and I _just realized this, _and I hope you can all forgive me while I try to sort out my own stupidity.**

**Thanks, and sorry.**


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